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Champion: The Crown is Mine
This is a short for my book Champion. Champion and all its stuff (for lack of a better term) is © 2020 Samurai, all rights reserved. Taekwondo Words Romanization is funky, so there are a billion different ways I've seen these spelled. o.o Fun times. Anyway, here are some handy words for this story: * charyot: attention * kyong ye: the command to bow * sijak: begin * kalyeo: stop For kicks, I'll be using the English terms. Here's a list of some kicks and some of their variations: *front kick **jumping front kick (jump with one leg, kick with the other) **pop front kick (jump with both legs, kick with one) *side kick **jumping side kick (jump with one leg, kick with the other) **flying side kick (see above but you go YEET) *back kick **jumping back kick **walking back kick **flying back kick *hook kick **skip hook kick *round kick **skip round kick **jumping round kick **pop round kick **spin jump round kick *crescent kick **tornado kick *spinning hook kick/back hook kick **jumping back hook kick **walking back hook kick **flying back hook kick Before We Begin... It was my first tournament, and I'll never forget it. And...not in a good way. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible. If I didn't have two dead parents and wasn't constantly on the run from...some people from my past, I'd tell you it was the worst experience of my life. I'd rather have been shot at. But I learned something important that day, and that lesson keeps me going even when I want nothing else but to give up. It's been eight years, but I haven't forgotten it, and I never will because it's that darn important. If it weren't for this tournament, I wouldn't be half the man I am today. I didn't learn how to run away from bad guys, dodge bullets, or turn around and kick them into next week, but I did learn something about defeat. Most vital lesson I'd ever learned, and it all started one Saturday morning. 1: Arrival We got there at 10:19 AM, and I know that because staring at my watch the entire time was my way of distracting myself from the complete and utter dread in the pit of my stomach. But I had to act like I wasn’t worried at all, because Master Swan - or Jet - was like drill sergeant who hadn't slept in three weeks. No kind words from that man. “Walk faster,” he said sharply. “At least pretend you want to be here.” “I do,” I said quickly, jogging to keep up with him. “Jogging” makes me sound so athletic, but it was more like haphazard stumbling. Giant sparring bag? Clumsy me? Running on nothing but a pack of vegan fruit snacks? Nothing graceful about this lad. We got to the registration desk, and there was a little bald guy sitting there, shuffling a deck of cards. “Oh, hello,” he said, glancing up. “Here for the tournament?” “No, we’re here for the money,” Jet growled. “We hid the body in the–” The man looked confused and a little afraid upon hearing this. “What?” “Fine," Jet said. "Tournament. Yes.” He slapped down a pen. “Sign my boy in.” “You...you’re supposed to do that, sir,” the man said uneasily. “I’m just–” “You’ve been breathing your idiocy onto that paper. No way am I touching that.” Jet had top-notch social skills. I stood there trying not to laugh at the guy’s reaction – his expression was priceless – because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I tried to fade into the air around me, but it didn’t work, especially given how much I stood out. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, and it made me even more nervous. I tried to fit in everywhere I went, but I never did – for one thing, I had two very different eye colors, and that may not sound like much, but one’s electric blue and the other’s blood red, so I’ll let you decide how normal that is. There was that, and I was really, really ripped, and that sounds like a normal thing, but it...well, I’m 15, and I’m not built very big. But have these GUNS, and I’ll tell you this right now, people notice that. And I get stared at. A lot. Because everyone stares at the superhuman, right? Anyway, Jet ended up filling out the forms and stuff, much to his irritation, and he scowled at the desk guy. “Why do I ''need a form? I’m not even in the tournament.” “You’re his coach, and we have to register everyone who will be on the mat,” the guy replied nervously. “Okay then,” Jet muttered. He began to fill out his form, loudly telling everyone within ten miles everything he was writing on it. “First name: Jet. Last name: Swan. Why do you need my...''age, excuse me? I’m 25, if anyone asks. Email. NoneOfYourBusiness@goawaystupidfoolishtroll.com. Phone number. Don’t remember, but I have it tattooed on my left–” “Sir,” the guy said, “I request that you use an inside voice.” “Request denied,” Jet said, sliding the form back to him. “Here’s your ridiculous form. Stop wasting my time and give me the other one.” He filled that one out in the same manner as before, using an alias for me, and then the desk guy finally let us in. People were still staring at me, and as much as I tried to ignore it, it still made me nervous. Did they think I was weird? Did they know who I really was? Were they from the Society? The last thing really worried me - their scouts and spies could be anyone. If I'd learned anything in fifteen years, it was that no one could be trusted. The Society had agents everywhere, all around the world, searching every shadow for Jet, my friends, and, most of all, me. They wanted to find me more than anything, and if they did, I could only imagine what would happen to me. I couldn't shake the feeling that they were here, watching, waiting, coming for me. They had a prison cell ready, I knew they did, and table in the laboratory, and a horrible plan to punish me for everything I'd done. I knew they did. And they were here - they had to be - because they were everywhere. They always were. Calm down, Tarik, ''a small voice inside me said. ''It's just a tournament. '' ''Just a small, obscure taekwondo tournament that no one knows about. There's no reason for them to be here. But there was. There definitely was. In fact, a tournament is one of the first places the Society would place agents - at least, if they knew anything about my father. He was the three-time world champion and had more Olympic medals than I could count; that being said, he'd wanted me to follow in his footsteps, and he'd trusted Jet to make that happen. And if the Society didn't know that, I'd be surprised. Tournaments could be risky, especially if someone found out who we were, but if I was going to be anything like my father, we didn't have a choice. We were terrified of the Society - even Jet was, though he would never tell you that - but there are some things fear can't stand in the way of, and this was one of them. I was going to make my father proud, wherever he was, and no one, not even the Society, was going to stop me. But there was a lingering sense of doubt in the back of my mind that insisted something would stop me: my own fear. My fear of the tournament. My fear of going up against someone, anyone. My fear of losing. 2: Getting Ready for the First Match feat. Jet Screaming The arena was really loud - I could hear it through the doors - and I was in no way prepared to have everyone's eyes on me. The very thought of it was nerve-wracking - it sounded like the entire city was here, and that only made me feel worse. And the possibility - no, the reality ''- that the Society could be here...that made it even scarier. I started to say so to Jet, but he cut me off right away. "Get it together," he said sharply. "You don't have time to feel like that. Man up and get ready for your match." He forcefully handed me my shin guards, practically throwing them into my chest, but our eyes met and I saw something in his that he rarely expressed in words. It was a glint of protectiveness that said, ''If they're here, they'll have to get through me first. No matter how harsh Jet was, I knew he cared about me. If he didn't, he wouldn't have saved me and Ruby from the Society the horrible day my parents were killed, and he wouldn't have protected us from the Society all these years. That wouldn't change now, and even when I got barked at for getting ready too slow, I knew that to be true. I don't think he thought of us as children, exactly, but he took it upon himself to raise us and ensure that neither of us ever landed in the labs of the Society again. So if they were at this tournament, they had fire waiting for them. And I mean that very, very literally. "Your belt's tied wrong," Jet grumbled, fixing it for me. "Didn't I teach you anything?" "No." "I did," he said. "If you forgot it all, that's on you. But one thing's for sure: you're going to learn a lot today, whether it's about winning or losing..." Aw, was he going to tell me how he would be proud of me no matter- "...and if it's about losing, that'll be 500 push-ups." Guess not. I didn't have time to dwell on that - it was time for the match to begin, no matter how much I didn't want it to. Forget the Society - in this moment, I was a lot more worried about my opponent, and fighting in front of all these people, and maybe losing, and... I took one look at the ring, and I couldn't move. 3: The First Match Come on, Tarik. Move. Move. Move. It's not that hard. Just take a step forward, and... I couldn't. "Tarik," Jet hissed. "Let's go! What are you waiting for?" Me to become a fighter who could actually win, maybe? I still didn't move, and I could only look at the floor. The audience's ocean of thunderous words became a muted waterfall of sound, and everything besides the small circle of floor upon which my eyes were focused was a blur. I was trapped in my own tiny world, and all I knew was fear. I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this. Vaguely, I heard my name called again, but I still didn't move. I stayed right where I was, frozen in place by the very fear Jet had told me to never feel. I COULDN'T DO THIS. I heard myself whisper those very words, and somehow Jet heard it. Nothing gets past that man. He responded almost instantaneously, grabbing my shoulders and hissing in my ear: "Yes, you can." I was surprised by the gentleness of the words and the sheer amount of caring in them - was this really Jet? I twisted around, almost expecting to see someone else, but sure enough, it was him. He must have hit his head or something... "You can do this," he said. "You have to think you can, or else you won't. The entire battle is fought in your head, Tarik - with a strong mind, you can overcome anything." Before I had time to think about that, my name was called again, and Jet gripped my shoulders harder. "So fix your thinking," he said, the harshness crashing back into his voice, "and if you don't, I'll give you a lobotomy." Point made! But even after hearing that, I still couldn't move, because I couldn't do this, I couldn't- No. I could. It was possible. It was just a matter of scoring more points than my opponent. That was it. There was nothing more to it. No one was going to die. The world wasn't going to end. The only thing at stake was...nothing, really. It wasn't like I had a reputation or winning streak to lose - this was my first tournament. And it was just a tournament. Part of me screamed in anger at that statement - it wasn't just a tournament! It was a chance to prove myself to everyone, everyone, everyone, including the Society if they were watching! It was a chance to show them that they had no idea who I was! I wasn't just a runaway experiment. I wasn't just a superhuman. I was so, so much more than that, and today was the day I got to show that to everyone. It wasn't just a tournament. And I could do this. I took a deep breath and stepped into the ring. 4: I Go Flying and Knock Over a Judge Remember the confidence I found in the last chapter? It vanished the instant the referee said sijak. Anxiety exploded in my chest, and everything I knew about this martial art flooded into an empty void, leaving my mind terrified and empty. I didn't know what to do, how to move, how to make it out of here alive. I could hear my heart pounding, my blood rushing, and I edged away from my opponent, who hadn't kicked yet but was planning to. I could see it in his eyes. It was a smug look, and he assured himself that whatever his first attack was going to be, it would land and he would score. There was nothing I could do about it. I hated that arrogant look and wanted to rip it off. But I could do nothing, nothing besides continuing to creep around the edge of the ring, listening to my heart race. His look grew even more conceited, if that was possible, and the air was tight with tension and anticipation. And then the attack came. It was a tornado, it was a whirlwind, and I didn't know what hit me. All I knew was that his score was much, much higher than mine now, and my ribs felt like they'd been crushed under a mountain. In fact, that was how every last one of my bones felt, cracked and broken, crushed to a powder. The edge of the ring threatened me with a penalty, and I realized he'd almost forced me out. Quickly I stepped away, only for his foot to slam into my chest with a front kick. I staggered back, crashing into one of the judges and knocking over stuff on their table. "Sorry," I thought I heard the arrogant boy say, and his smile only grew more prideful. "My bad," I wheezed to the judge, scrambling to my feet. "Might want to sit somewhere else." The referee started the match again, and it was no different. My limbs were frozen, unable to do anything but try to run away from my opponent, and I didn't even try to land a hit, not once. I couldn't try. It was all too much, too overwhelming, too... This tournament was a huge mistake. The first round ended, and we were allowed a brief water break. Jet had a lot to say. "You can't let him push you around like that," he said. "You can't let anyone push you around like that. Fight back!" But I... "Come on," he said, retying my chest guard which had come loose. "Don't tell me you don't want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face." I did. But... "Tarik," he said, looking me in the eyes. "You can do this. Because, remember..." He leaned closer and whispered, "Who's superhuman and who's not?" 5: Spinning Hook Kick Category:Content (Samurai) Category:Stories